


Not Yet

by quirkysubject



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Begging, Dirty Talk, Dom John, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Sex Toys, Sub Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/pseuds/quirkysubject
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is different. This time he doesn’t want Sherlock to have any control left whatsoever; he wants to have him undone and knowing that this time it won’t be his decision to obey. Wants him writhing on the bed and straining against the shackles.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [SwissMiss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SwissMiss/pseuds/SwissMiss%22) for the beta.
> 
> Comments are very welcome!

Most days, John does not use restraints to keep Sherlock in position, but rather orders him to grip the headboard and not dare to let go. He loves to see how Sherlock wants almost nothing more in the world than to reach down and touch himself, make himself come, but doesn’t, because the one thing he does want more than that is to please John, to prove that he can be good and trusts him to make it all worth it in the end. This is different. This time he doesn’t want Sherlock to have any control left whatsoever; he wants to have him undone and knowing that this time it won’t be his decision to obey. Wants him writhing on the bed and straining against the shackles.

Sherlock’s cock is dark and rock hard against the pale skin of his belly, straining upwards as if seeking a touch. John is ghosting over the length of it with the tips of his index and middle fingers, hearing Sherlock’s breath catch in his throat.

 _Enough of that._

He kneels beside Sherlock and turns his attention to his nipples, which have been neglected until now. He tugs at the sides of the shirt until the silky fabric slides over Sherlock’s chest. Then he pinches Sherlock’s nipples through the thin material to make them stand up, a little harder than necessary. He begins to rub his fingertips over the right one, then curls his hand to touch it with the back of his fingernails. Sherlock hisses and arches his back off the bed, the movement cut short by the pull of the restraints. John increases the pressure and slides his thumbnail over the nub repeatedly in a fluid, circular motion, the shirt ensuring a smooth glide. 

Sherlock pushes his head into the mattress, baring his throat, and breathes heavily through clenched teeth; John can feel his chest heaving underneath his fingers. 

“John” he grinds out. “God. I need...”

John reaches up with one hand and rests it on Sherlock's jaw. He caresses Sherlock’s lips with his thumb, then aims higher to trace the frown on his forehead. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.” 

He moves his right hand to the other side and braces himself on his left, then bends down to suck the reddened nipple between his teeth. Sherlock groans and pulls hard on his restraints; John can feel the pectoral muscles contract under his lips. John knows that he could keep Sherlock like this for hours, walking the edge, but never letting him come. It doesn't even take much skill, as Sherlock’s nipples are extremely sensitive to stimulus, yet he needs that hand, that mouth, that arse on his cock, even if just for a few seconds, in order to come. 

John gives a final nip, then sits back on his heels and lets his hands rest on Sherlock’s abdomen. He is so beautifully stretched out beneath him, hands tightly gripping the rope extending from the shackles, his hair a web of sweaty, dark curls, and that voice escaping from his throat in short, low moans. 

Not enough. _Not yet_. 

He slides his hands down, neatly missing Sherlock’s heavy cock. Sherlock uses what little leeway he has in an attempt to twist his hips sideways to reach John’s hand, to get something - _anything_ \- to touch him, but John pins him down hard with both hands. 

“Now, that was not so clever,” he observes. He leans down until his lips almost touch the head of Sherlock’s cock, then licks his lips. Sherlock’s eyes are screwed shut, but John knows he can hear the movement in the quiet of his bedroom. “I just wanted to suck your cock, nice and slow, just how you like it.” He breathes against the flushed skin. “But now...” 

John pushes himself upright again and reaches between Sherlock’s legs. Due to Sherlock’s supine position he doesn’t have the best angle, but he can reach the curved handle of the plug in Sherlock’s arse, and moves it in a twist-and-push-up motion. 

Sherlock’s groan is followed by short, stifled moans in time with his breaths, the pitch of his voice noticeably higher than before.

 _We’re getting there_. 

The plug is Sherlock’s second weakness. The changes were almost imperceptible, but John observed the slight hitch in Sherlock’s breath, the minute pause of his fingers as they were unbuttoning his shirt, when Sherlock saw the toy lying on the bedside table. He didn’t care much for getting fucked, but with this plug that curved just so, John could reduce him to a sobbing mess every single time. 

Twist-and-push. Sherlock gasps and twists his hips, torn between pushing up in a desperate search for any friction on his cock, and pressing down on the plug, knowing that this would not, could not get him over the edge. A drop of sweat runs down his throat. 

John lets his free hand slide up Sherlock’s leg, then changes direction and puts it on his own, awfully neglected cock. Twist-and-push. _John. Please._ He slides his thumb over his own glans, smearing the fluid that has accumulated there, and then slowly starts jacking himself off. He trains his eyes on Sherlock’s face. His eyebrows are knitted as if in agony and his parted lips are dark and swollen from biting them intermittently with his teeth. 

“Christ, look at you.” Twist-and-push. “You would let me do anything tonight, wouldn’t you? If only I let you come.” 

“Please, John... just... just let me...” 

Twist-and-push. “I could keep you like that for hours, you know,” John informs Sherlock conversationally. As he is closer to coming than he cares to admit this might not technically be true, but he doesn’t think Sherlock is able to deduce that at moment.

“God, I need... I need to...”

“You would let me come all over that beautiful face of yours.” The thought is tempting, but logistically problematic, he would have to stop the twist-and-push and that is not an option right now, not when it makes Sherlock emit such utterly needy, debauched sounds. He quickens the pace of the hand on his cock and strains to keep his voice steady and calm. “Wouldn’t you?” 

“I... yes, John... anything, just... please...”

That last one is almost a sob.

 _Enough._

John allows himself to become engrossed in the sight, the smell, the sound of Sherlock so close, so desperate before him, concentrating on his own pleasure, and loses himself in his approaching orgasm. It hits him hard, and he screws his eyes shut, panting and moaning and coming all over those nice, blue sheets. 

He takes a few deep breaths, before turning his attention back to Sherlock, who stares at him with wild, wide-open eyes. John slides one hand under Sherlock’s heavy, swollen cock and lifts it gently up, then bows down and engulfs it in his mouth, as deep and tight as he can. He hears Sherlock’s hoarse shout of _John_ and _yes_ and _so good_ and starts to slide his lips and tongue up and down the shaft, quick and firm.

_No more playing._

With one hand he keeps constant pressure on the plug. Sherlock is rigid under him, but a constant stream of profanities is pouring from his lips. It takes less than a minute until he comes with a deep, gravelly groan that is all desire and relief and edge. 

John rests his head on Sherlock’s thigh for a moment in silence, then moves quickly to loosen the shackles on Sherlock’s wrists and ankles. He massages the muscles of Sherlock’s shoulders for moment, where he knows they must be strained and tired. He grabs a paper towel from the bedside table and wipes Sherlock clean, removing the butt plug as carefully as possible. Sherlock winces as John touches his now over-sensitive flesh. 

Finally, he crawls up the bed and lies down on his side next to Sherlock, resting his head on one arm. Sherlock has still not made any attempt to move, but his eyes are open and they have their natural piercing gaze. 

“Planning your revenge,” John muses. 

Sherlock quirks his lips in one of his typical not-smiles. “Still mapping out some details.”

“Going to be elaborate, then.”

“Shall we say, logistically challenging.”

John chuckles and strokes Sherlock’s arm lazily. He can already feel himself drowsing off to sleep. Sherlock will make him pay for tonight, hopefully. But he'll worry about that after a good night’s rest. 

Tomorrow. Not yet.


End file.
